The golden light of the lamp had lost its warmth, its glow now harsh and unrelenting as it painted long shadows on the bare walls. Ji Ah stirred, her body stiff and aching from another night of restless sleep. The bed, for all its softness, felt more like a prison than a sanctuary.

Her shoulder throbbed sharply as she sat up, a reminder of her failed escape and the price she had paid for it. She bit back a groan, her fingers brushing the edge of the bandages as her mind replayed the events of the night before.

The Frontman's voice still echoed in her head, smooth and mocking. "Careful, little detective. You're walking a fine line."The memory made her fists clench.

Ji Ah swung her legs over the edge of the bed, her bare feet meeting the cold floor. The stillness of the room pressed down on her like a weight, suffocating in its silence.

She glanced toward the door—the same unyielding barrier that had mocked her the night before.

A small tray of food sat on the desk, its appearance silent and unannounced. Ji Ah frowned, the sight of it stirring both hunger and unease. Whoever had placed it there hadn't made a sound. She wondered if he had done it himself, the thought sending a chill down her spine.

She crossed the room, her steps slow and deliberate, and examined the tray. The food was simple but fresh—a small loaf of bread, anorange, 2 hard boiled eggs and a glass of water. There was no note, no explanation. Just sustenance.

Her stomach growled, but Ji Ah ignored it for a moment, her eyes scanning the room.

She looked for anything she might have missed the day before—a seam in the walls, a crack in the ceiling, anything to suggest this place wasn't as impenetrable as it seemed.

The silence dragged on, her thoughts racing as she fought to make sense of her captivity. She would find a way out. She had to.

But even as she resolved to fight, the memory of the Frontman's touch lingered—cold leather brushing against her cheek, his voice curling around her like smoke.

——————————————

The golden light of the lamp felt almost mocking now, casting warmth into a room that held none. Ji Ah moved with purpose, ignoring the dull ache in her shoulder and the pounding in her head.

The once-pristine bed was now stripped bare, the sheets and pillows piled haphazardly on the floor.

Every inch of the room bore signs of her frantic search: the desk's drawers were yanked open and emptied, the mattress flipped to reveal the frame beneath, and even the golden lamp had been dismantled in her pursuit of answers.

Her fingers brushed along the smooth walls, searching for hidden seams, panels—anything that might give her a clue. But the room seemed impenetrable, designed to hold secrets as well as captives.

She paused, catching her breath, her eyes falling on the tray of food still sitting on the desk. The small loaf of bread was torn but uneaten, crumbs scattered across the surface. The rest untouched.

Her gaze sharpened as a thought took hold. The tray was metal, sturdy, and heavy enough to serve as a weapon.

Ji Ah crossed the room, picking it up and testing its weight in her good hand. It wasn't ideal, but it was better than nothing.

She set about her plan, waiting by the door ready to strike whoever entered next, her shoulder be damned.

——————————

Time ticked on as Ji Ah waited, trying to remain silent, shifting her weight to keep her legs awake.

Her mind whirling at the plan and who could be waiting beyond that door. She hoped it was a circle guard or a vip servant, they would be easier to subdue.

The sound of a lock clicking broke the silence, freezing Ji Ah in place.

Her head snapped toward the door as she heard the faint shuffle of footsteps outside.

Her pulse quickened, adrenaline flooding her veins as she tightened her grip on the tray. She lifted the tray, pressing her back against the wall.

The footsteps grew louder, closer, until they stopped just beyond the threshold. Ji Ah's heart thundered in her chest, every muscle tensed as the door creaked open.

A sliver of light spilled into the room, and Ji Ah saw a shadow cross the doorway.

She didn't hesitate. As soon as the figure stepped inside, Ji Ah swung the tray with all the force she could muster, aiming for the side of their head.

The tray connected with a loud clang, the impact sending a sharp jolt up her arm. The figure stumbled back, a gloved hand shooting up to steady themselves against the doorframe, blocking her exit.

"Well," the Frontman's voice drawled, low and edged with amusement. "I see you're making yourself at home"

Ji Ah's stomach dropped as the realization hit her. It wasn't some lackey or guard—it was him.

He straightened, the tray slipping from Ji Ah's hand and clattering to the floor as he stepped forward. The dim light caught the gleam of his mask, and she swore she could feel the weight of his gaze through the void.

"What were you hoping to accomplish?" he asked, his tone maddeningly calm. "Escape? Or perhaps you just needed a way to vent your frustration?"

Ji Ah gritted her teeth, forcing herself to meet his gaze—or the approximation of it. "What do you think?" she shot back.

The Frontman stepped closer, his imposing frame towering over her. "I think," he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper, "that you're more trouble than you're worth. But I'm starting to enjoy the challenge."

Ji Ah breath tightened at that, her body heating in an unwanted way.

Ji Ah held her ground as he moved past her, his presence suffocating in the small room. He bent down, picking up the discarded tray with an almost casual ease.

"You're restless," he said, inspecting the tray as though it held some deeper meaning. "It's understandable. Expected even"

She felt her ire rise, though she kept her expression neutral. "So, what? You're here to make my stay more comfortable?"

He straightened, the tray now tucked under one arm. "Not quite," he replied. "But I think it's time we had a change of scenery."

Ji Ah blinked, unsure if she'd heard him correctly. "What?"

The Frontman turned toward the door, gesturing for her to follow. "Come with me, little detective."

She hesitated, ignoring the way her pulse quickened at that new name. Her instincts screaming at her to stay put. But curiosity gnawed at her. What game was he playing now?

When she didn't move, he glanced over his shoulder. "Unless, of course, you prefer the confines of your room. I can leave you here if you'd like."

Grinding her teeth, Ji Ah stepped forward, her good hand brushing against her injured shoulder as a reminder of what he was capable of. She kept her gaze on his back as she followed him into the corridor, her mind racing with possibilities.

Stepping out into the hallway she was surprised to find herself in the familiar corridor of his quarters.

She was being kept his personal prisoner.

Ji Ah's eyes scanned the space, eyes tuning to living quarters at the bottom of the corridor, taking in the low leather furniture, the fireplace flickering with soft amber light, and the bar cart tucked neatly in the corner. Books lined one wall, their spines uniform and unmarked.

Ji Ah crossed her arms, refusing to let herself be outwardly relieved to be out of that room. "What's the point of this?" she asked. "You don't strike me as the hospitable type."

The Frontman moved to armchair, taking a seat. "Let's call it... an experiment," he said, glancing at her over his shoulder. "I'm curious to see how you behave in a different setting."

Ji Ah's jaw tightened. "You think this will change anything? I'm not some toy you can play with."

He chuckled softly, turning his gaze to the fire "No, you're not. You're much more complicated than that. And that's what makes you interesting."

The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken tension. Ji Ah's gaze locked onto the back of his hood, seemly frozen to her spot, her mind racing with questions she wouldn't dare voice.

"Sit," he said suddenly, gesturing to the small chair nearest the fireplace. She had never noticed it during her visits before. Had he brought it for her?

Sit," he said suddenly, gesturing to the small chair near the fireplace.

Ji Ah hesitated, her instincts screaming at her to stay standing. But the way he said it—calm, yet with an unspoken edge—left little room for argument.

Slowly, she crossed the room, lowering herself stiffly into the chair. The warmth of the fire brushed against her legs, and she tugged at the hem of her shirt, acutely aware of how exposed she felt.

The Frontman watched her intently, his gloved hands tightening slightly on the arms of his chair.

"You want answers. Let's talk" he said, his voice smooth and deliberate. Ji Ah pretended not to notice the almost imperceptible head tilt downward, to where her shirt met her thigh.

The fire crackled softly, filling the silence between them as Ji Ah shifted in her seat, her eyes locked onto the masked figure across from her. Refusing to give into his obvious mind game.

"Your unusually quiet, my little detective," he said, his voice smooth, unhurried. The nickname fell from his lips with a deliberate weight, one that made her chest tighten. "I hope I'm not boring you."

Ji Ah's jaw clenched. "Stop calling me that," she snapped, her tone sharper than she intended.

The Frontman tilted his head slightly, the mask catching the flicker of firelight. "Why does it bother you?" he asked, his voice laced with mock curiosity. "It suits you."

"It's condescending," she bit out, leaning forward slightly. "And I'm not your anything."

"Not yet," he murmured, the words barely audible, but they landed like a blow. Ji Ah stiffened, her hands gripping the armrests as a flush of anger surged through her.

"I'm serious," she said, her voice firm. "Find another name."

"But none would fit quite as well." He leaned back in his chair, the firelight dancing over his gloved hands as he clasped them in front of him. "You're determined, resourceful, and always hunting for answers. Little detective... it's perfect."

"It's insulting," Ji Ah shot back, her voice rising slightly. "I have a name." She assured, almost it trying to remind herself of that.

"Oh, I know Ji Ah," he said smoothly, her full name rolling off his tongue with an unsettling ease. "Mun Ji Ah. Detective with the Seoul Police Department. Thirty-two years old. Commendations for bravery, sharp instincts, and a talent for getting under people's skin."

Ji Ah's breath caught. The room felt smaller, the fire's warmth suddenly suffocating.

"So, you've done your homework," she said, her voice steady despite the way her pulse quickened. "I'm not impressed."

"Oh, I'm sure you're not," he replied smoothly. "But you should be. I don't waste time on people who aren't worth it."

"But, my Little Detective, names are personal. And you—" he gestured toward her with a gloved hand "—are far more intriguing than a name."

Her stomach churned at the way he said it, as though he were branding her, staking some unspoken claim. "You don't own me," she said, her voice tight with defiance.

"Don't I?" he countered, his voice soft but cutting. "You're sitting here, in my quarters, under my rule. Every breath you take in this place is because I allow it. Tell me, little detective, does that not make you mine?"

Ji Ah shot to her feet, the chair scraping against the floor as she glared at him. "You can call me whatever you want," she said, her voice trembling with restrained fury. "But it doesn't mean a damn thing. I don't belong to you or anyone else."

The Frontman rose slowly, his movements deliberate, predatory. He took a step closer, the towering presence of his frame filling her vision as the firelight gleamed off his mask.

"You don't like the name," he said, his voice low, intimate. "But it's yours now. Mine to give. Yours to wear."

Her breath hitched, her fists curling at her sides. "You're delusional."

"Perhaps," he said, his tone almost playful. "But see you, Ji Ah. Beneath the defiance, the anger... . And whether you like it or not, little detective will always remind you of this moment. Of me."

Ji Ah's chest tightened, his words wrapping around her like a net. She hated how easily he twisted the power between them, how he seemed to peel back her defenses without effort.

"You think you know me," she said, forcing her voice to remain steady. "But you don't."

"Don't I?" he asked, his tone softening, almost a whisper. "I know the way your eyes narrow when you're calculating your next move. I know how your shoulders tense when you're about to fight. And I know that no matter how much you resist, there's a part of you that's curious about me."

Her breath caught, his words striking too close to the truth.

She turned her head slightly, trying to break the invisible pull of his presence. "You're wrong."

He took another step closer, the warmth of the fire and his proximity pressing against her skin. "Am I?"

The silence between them crackled like the fire, heavy with unspoken tension. Ji Ah forced herself to meet his gaze—or where his gaze might be behind the mask—and held it, refusing to let him see her falter.

"Call me whatever you want," she said finally, her voice low and defiant. "It doesn't change the fact that you're just a coward hiding behind a mask." Her hand reaching up, fingers flicking the cold plastic. Stunned by her own brazen act.

Her hand dropped immediately, the coolness of the mask's surface still lingering on her fingertips. What the hell was she doing?

He didn't flinch, but the subtle stillness of his body told her he hadn't expected the move. His gloved fingers curled faintly, a tension settling between them like a live wire.

Then, to her surprise, he chuckled—a low, quiet sound that sent a chill down her spine.

"You can call me whatever you want too, my little detective," he said, his tone edged with amusement and something she couldn't name

Ji Ah's pulse raced, her anger warring with something deeper—something she refused to acknowledge.

"Sit," he said suddenly, gesturing to the chair she had abandoned.

She hesitated, her defiance flaring again, but the calm authority in his tone made it clear he wasn't asking.

Reluctantly, she lowered herself back into the chair, her movements slow and deliberate.

The Frontman returned to his seat, his posture relaxed but his presence unrelenting. "Good," he said, his voice softer now. "Now, let's continue."

Ji Ah leaned forward, her good hand resting on the armrest. "Why me? What's the point of this? Is this another part of your sick game?"

The Frontman's mask tilted slightly, his silence stretching the tension taut.

When he finally spoke, his voice was softer, almost intimate. "You intrigue me, little detective. Most people, when faced with their own limits, crumble. But you..." He paused, his gloved hand gesturing toward her. "You fight. Even when it's futile. Even when you know you've already lost."

Ji Ah bristled, her fists clenching. "If you think I've lost, you don't know me as well as you think."

His laugh this time was deeper, almost amused. "Oh, I know you better than you'd like. The way you walked into this, believing you could change something. The way you hold on to that anger, that fire, even now." He leaned closer, the shadows of the fire dancing across his mask. "But tell me, Ji Ah—what are you really fighting for?"

Her heart pounded, the weight of his question pressing against her chest. "For the people you've taken," she said, her voice sharp. "For justice."

The Frontman leaned back, the firelight catching the edges of his mask. "Justice," he repeated, the word curling around his tongue. "A noble lie. And what about you?"

Ji Ah froze. "What about me?"

"You're not here for justice," he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "You're here because you needed to see the monster up close. To understand it. To prove to yourself that you could survive it."

Her breath caught, his words cutting too close to the truth. "You don't know me," she said, her voice faltering slightly.

"Don't I?" he murmured.

"No" she answered simply, "I'm here because me friend needed me"

He stilled at this, his actions becoming careful, almost cautious. "Your friend," he echoed, his tone slow, deliberate. "Is that what you tell yourself? That this was about him?"

Ji Ah's heart raced, but she forced herself to hold his gaze. "It's the truth," she said, her voice steady. "I came here to keep him safe and to save the players"

The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. Then he leaned forward, his gloved hands resting on his knees as he studied her. "And yet, the players are dead and you friend is he's gone, isn't he?" His voice was soft, almost kind, but the words struck like a blade.

Ji Ah not wanting to face the truth, became angry "What happened to Jun Ho?" she demanded, her voice sharp and unyielding.

The Frontman stilled, his gloved fingers tapping lightly against the armrest. "You're persistent," he said, his tone casual, almost dismissive. "It's an admirable quality."

"That's not an answer," Ji Ah snapped, her anger flaring. "What did you do to him?"

He tilted his head slightly, the movement slow and deliberate, as if considering her question. "It's not relevant," he said finally, his voice smooth and detached.

"Not relevant?" Ji Ah repeated, her voice rising. She stood abruptly, the firelight catching the tension in her frame. "You're holding me here, but you can't even give me the truth about what you did to him?"

The Frontman rose as well, his towering presence casting a shadow across her. "The truth," he said, his voice calm but laced with a quiet menace, "is often more dangerous than the lie."

Ji Ah's breath hitched, her fists curling at her sides. "Stop dodging the question," she said, her voice trembling with anger. "You know what happened to him. Tell me."

He stepped closer, the heat of the fire warming the space between them. "And if I did?" he asked softly, his tone almost intimate. "What would you do with that knowledge, little detective? Would it change anything? Or would it simply give you another reason to fight a battle you can't win?"

Ji Ah's defiance faltered for a moment, the weight of his words pressing against her chest. "I deserve to know," she said, her voice quieter now but no less firm.

The Frontman chuckled softly, the sound low and unsettling. "Deserve?" he repeated, the word sounding like a joke. "You're in no position to demand anything."

Her jaw tightened, her anger bubbling just beneath the surface. "You can't keep avoiding this," she said. "You can't just erase him like he never existed."

"Who says I'm erasing him?" His reply was quick, sharp, as though her accusation struck a nerve. He turned away from her, his hands clasping behind his back as he faced the fire. "Jun Ho made his choices. Just as you've made yours."

Ji Ah's eyes narrowed at this, her mind racing to decipher his meaning. "So, he's alive," she pressed, taking a step closer. "Is that what you're saying?"

The Frontman was silent for a moment, his head tilting slightly as he watched the flames dance. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer, almost distant. "Alive. Dead. Does it matter? He's gone."

His words struck like a blow, the ambiguity of them leaving her breathless. Ji Ah swallowed hard, her hands trembling at her sides. She swallowed hard, fighting the surge of doubt that clawed at her chest. Is he alive? Is he dead? The thought of never knowing burned like acid in her throat

"It matters to me," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

The Frontman turned to face her, his imposing frame silhouetted by the fire. "And what about you, little detective?" he asked, his voice regaining its edge. "Why are you so determined to hold onto the past when your future is the only thing you should be worrying about?"

Ji Ah glared at him, her anger flaring again. "Because I don't run from things" she shot back. "Unlike you."

His laugh was quiet, dark. "Is that what you think?" he asked, stepping closer until the space between them was almost nonexistent. "That I'm running?"

She refused to back down, her gaze locking onto his mask. "That's exactly what I think."

For a moment, the room was silent, the tension between them crackling like the fire.

Then the Frontman leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "Perhaps I am," he said, the admission chilling in its honesty.

Ji Ah's breath caught, the weight of his words unsettling her. Before she could respond, the Frontman straightened, his gloved hand brushing against the edge of the mantle as he stepped back.

"You should rest," he said, his tone once again calm, detached.

Gently grabbing her elbow he guided her back to her room. The soft crackle of the fireplace the only sound filling the room.

The Frontman paused at the door, his hand resting lightly on the frame, like he was hesitating for a moment. His gloved hand lingered on the frame, tightening briefly before releasing. He didn't look back, but the soft exhale that escaped him seemed to weigh more than his words ever had.

And then he was gone, the door closing with a quiet finality that left Ji Ah alone with her racing thoughts.